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PEANUT BUTTER & EDITION

Today:
73° / 54°
near-record bears


Tomorrow:
78° / 52°
near-record bears


Sunday:
71° / 51°
morning bears


Monday:
81° / 54°
light p.m. bears


Tuesday:
90° / 68°
a.m. bears


“E. recyculus recyculus, et r. cyculus recyculus.”
“From many small bicycles, one bicycle airship.”




vol. LVII       no. 20,608
Fri., Jun. 3, 1459


PRESIDENTIAL FUN FACT

In the entire 240-plus year history of the United States, there have been only twenty-two presidents named Herbert Hoover. Notable President Herbert Hoovers include Presidents Herbert Quincy Hoover, Herbert Milhous Hoover, and, of course, President Herbert H.W. Hoover—while perhaps the most recognizable President Herbert Hoover of them all, President Herbert Hoover, was actually born der Herbalkt Hoovenshleph, in honor of the first man to walk on a photograph of the moon someone had taped to the floor.
  
What's On The Windmill-Powered Black Magic Projector Tonight?


Bravo


8:30 — Skank-AssSkank-Ass Bitchez:Bitchez: Lake Tahoe (new): Tammabelle acts skanky; Amandabelle goes crazy; Donnabelle loses her shitshit

9:30 — Skank-AssSkank-Ass Bitchez:Bitchez: Sioux City (new): Jezabelle acts skanky and goes crazy; Gabriellabelle goes crazy and loses her shit;shit; level-headed Donnabelle signs a nondisclosure agreement and goes home

10:30 — Block of Commercials Where It Sounds Like the Announcer's In A Hallway, Yelling About Bravo Shows (repeat)
  
I guess my biggest barrier to success is that I don't believe in myself. It's really hard to accomplish anything when you don't think you exist, despite all the evidence.  Φ
Increase Your Culinary Vocabulary!

en • trée   \ ahn-tray \
from Modernish French, c. 18th century

1. France for dinner; not to be confused with the Parisian Society of Blatant Cannibals' famed marketing slogan, “France For Dinner”

2. French Canada for dinner; not to be confused with the Québec Society of Semi-Committed Cannibals' famed marketing slogan, “French Canada For Dinner, Unless There's Poutine, In Which Case: Poutine For Dinner”
  
Dear Ethelberga,

My boss at work is a real jerk. He's always licking his chops and talking about what big breastsbreasts I have, and how I “look good enough to eat.” And it's not just me, either. He calls all of us ladies “my little chicks,” and then he brags to anyone who'll listen about how we're “all natural, baby.” He's so gross. It's just, I mean—what the cluck? You know? Is there anything me and the other chickens around the coop can do?
— Harassed On The Farm


Dear Harassed On The Farm,

If Old McDonald has a farm and doesn't seem to know that “no” means “e-i, e-i, no,” you and the other hens should definitely look into filing a complaint with human resources. Then again, they probably can't do much to help y'all, and there's a better than 50-50 chance they'll try to marinate you within the first few packets of the paperwork. Wow, this is a tough one (though the marination would admittedly make it a little less so). I dunno—maybe poop in your cages a little more? It's a bit passive-aggressive, sure, but it might be all you can really do right now. Just try to be strong, sister. Keep on cluckin', and godspeed. Oh, and apropos of nothing, you gals don't happen to be free-range, do you?
— Ethelberga
  
Practically Wisdom

SexuallySexually repressed Old World Puritans will be happy to learn that one of anything in the hand is better than two in the bush,bush, save for the rare occasion when one finds him or herself in a position to enjoy simultaneous occupation of both hand and bushbush—after which it simply becomes a case of the more the merrier, where facilities allow.
  
Word of the Day

vel • o • ci • ped • est • ri • an • ist • i • cal • i • stin • ar • i • an • ol • o • gist:

“One who studies the study of studying cycling and/or vaguely Italian-sounding velociraptors who may or may not perform grisly, cycle-based parlor tricks.”

See also: lab • coat • draped • ty • rann • o • saur • cir • cus • mon • ster • sci • en • tist
  ȸ
Has This Ever Happened To You?

Today, I asked my wife if I could borrow her bra ’cause mine's in the shop and she looked at me like I asked to borrow her bra ’cause mine's in the shop.
  
Hometown Local Area News

A man was arrested yesterday for forcing his way into the hometown local area preschool, and screaming incoherently at a group of young children enjoying nap time. When questioned by police, the perpetrator reportedly acknowledged an ongoing feud with little Billy “The Butcher of the Play-Doh Table” Thompson, and insisted that the little fuckerfucker “started it.” Thompson was also taken into custody, and is currently being held on $250,000 bail.
  


Established 1403 A.D.         “The World's First Web Pages” *
© Copye Ryghte 1459 RECYCULUS.  ✣   * Printed on 91.4% spider webs.


***  EDITOR'S WORLD'S GREATEST NOTE:  stockpiler of piles of stocks  ***    
    MESSENGER:  please remit to prig pagan    


recycle this issue                  keep this issue                 what's recyculus?                who's recyculus? 
RECYCULUS, from the lowercase, italicized recyculus, literally translates to “from many small bicycles, one bicycle airship” — most likely a nod to the extremely respectable publication's earliest days, during which it rode, impressively sans-hands, atop a wave of light-to-moderate interest in secondhand mega-bicycles that began all throughout history, and persisted well past the future.

In an age when draconian town ordinances hadn't yet been applied to enormous bicycles, exceedingly burdensome village laws required all huge local bicycles to take up entire city blocks, thereby — or so went the theory — maximizing computing power. Despite these job-killing regulations — and to say nothing of the continuous, violent Mongol conquest of its central sales office — RECYCULUS managed to stand out from the used-gargantuan-bicycle crowd, thanks in part to its line of similarly-titanic bicycles, based on designs the burgeoning daily newsletter distributor endeavored to license, at tremendous expense, from hundreds of competing outfits specializing in subpar jumbo bicycles.

Finally, in the first six or seven minutes of the winter of 1402, lightning struck. Later that day, in a quiet moment following the fires, came a turning point: Whilst hopelessly tending to his many serious burns, founder H. Angus Recyculus (no relation) took it upon himself to seize an opportunity to break into the centuries-shy-of-being-conceived-of collection of world wide webs, refocusing the samely-renamed RECYCULUS's efforts on becoming the world's first * and only ** daily issuer of high-test web*** pages — a distinction it maintains, on both counts, as of about 3 PM eastern, 2 PM central.

In those first few thousand heady days, the simple act of “uplinking” new content to the infant web printing press required tens of thousands of recently-paroled, hastily-minted engineers to tightly roll up each and every lovingly-crafted submission, before squeezing them into their hometown energy concern's expansive network of live, weather-frayed, high-load municipal trunk cable — itself yet to be invented — while taking great pains all over their humanity and skeletons to avoid allowing the sudden plumes of almost-certainly-unrelated person steam to curl and/or smear the delicate, invaluable blurbs, before allowing good old-fashioned American electricity to do what it does best, dozens of decades before those words would have any meaning at all. Back then — just like pretty recently — RECYCULUS engineers could be found electrocuted along our nation's many miles of pristine, white sand interstate highways; a quaint reminder of a time we were still in until, again, pretty recently.

As any latterly hypnotized student of history will be instructed to recall, RECYCULUS's unprecedented 587-year run came to an abrupt end at 11:59 PM, on that fateful night of December 31, 1989, when its headquarters exploded during the Great Headquarters Explodings of ’89, and shortly thereafter gently floated off to that elephantine bicycle reseller in the sky. Forty minutes later — once every piece of cinder had finally been looted, discarded, or eaten — it became abundantly clear to the wandering hordes that these scant 5.8 × 1083 scanned pages were all that remained of the once great whatever it had been. Another forty minutes later — after the cinder poisoning had largely subsided, and acting on behalf of RECYCULUS without the proper authorization — the mesothelioma-fortified de facto chieftains decided to make each and every issue available, free of charge, to the entire remaining world, with only the moderate wish that their publisher's great, indecipherable legacy never be truly forgotten or understood.

All of us here at RECYCULUS — from H. Angus Recyculus XVII, Sr. (no relation), on down to the lowliest Senior Vice President of Worldwide Distribution, each of whom has most definitely not**** gone on to live a life of magnificent luxury within the plush, palatial confines of the literal new head office they collided with the instant they missed the turn for the metaphorical one — sincerely hope you'll find something to enjoy in each of these 5.8 billion million billion octillion decillion modest, extremely amazing, humble, profoundly transcendent, ordinary pages of woven web. (Maybe over a long***** weekend, or something.) And we say that not merely for the sake of the families of the millions who have died meaningless, excruciating deaths to bring you these bland yet succulent texts — but also for the many, many, many millions more who have survived; bedridden by intractable full-body hair pain and roving blood spasms, having long ago been rendered physically incapable of instigating death's sweet release.

This one's for the fans.


* presumably, based on fonts
** based on searches conducted in 1997, while the modems were in the shop — individual results may vary, if they so choose
*** prior to that point, most of the world's pages were spun from leftover cocoon fuzz
**** based on the most up-to-date lies available at the time of the lying
***** likely one of the longest on record, because even if you're a quick reader and were able to enjoy one issue per minute, it'd still take you 1.1 quinvigintillion years — or around 79.8 million billion trillion quadrillion septillion times longer than the universe has even existed — to enjoy them all (or you could just print them for later, in which case maybe ask about the bulk rate on ink, because the sheets of paper required to do so would stretch 205.9 unvigintillion light years across the cosmos, or — were the universe a sphere — roughly 13.9 trillion quadrillion quintillion septillion googol trips around it)
RECYCULUS  is:

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ߜ  Brian Adams
  contributor

ʘ  Drew Adamski
  contributor

ȸ  Justin Barricks
  contributor

  Steve Brunton
  contributor

϶  Lisa Hytner
  contributor

  Jack Oolders
  contributor

Φ  Dave Prague
  contributor

  Zack Zagranis
  contributor

ȼ  Aaron Casey
  at-large contributor

Δ  Dena Darvish
   Derakhshan

  at-large contributor

Ϟ  Allan Heifetz
  at-large contributor

&

  Matt Payne
  editor immortalis

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

email    to contribute